What Remains of the Light
by The Solar Surfer
Summary: Gabrielle Breit lives a charmed life. Popular, wealthy, athletic, smart, she seems to have it all. But none of that matters when her dad falls into a coma, and only she can save him. Along the way, she runs into Thor, here to retrieve a magical bow. As a greater threat looms over the Nine Realms, Gabby discovers unnatural powers in herself. Not human. Just who, or what, is Gabby?
1. Prologue

**Hey everyone, a new MCU fic! I'm not sure if its going to be in the same continuity as Rebel Columbia, but we'll see :) For now, enjoy something a little different.**

 **As always, a prologue, for a bit of context...**

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 **Prologue**

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Malekith could not be stopped.

A Dark Elf, he predated the universe itself. He'd seen the beginning, and he would bring about the end. With the Aether, the first singularity from which he was born, contained in a single stone, he would bring about the death of the Gods.

Ragnarok.

He walked through the lands of his home world, Svartalfheim. Once a realm of life, light, and beauty, it was nothing more than an ashen wasteland. The Aether had done this. It had swallowed the Light that Malekith so despised.

Nothing lived here. Nothing except what remained of his army, who subsisted on their vengeance alone. Revenge was a powerful thing. It could keep a creature breathing long after it should have died. It was what kept Malekith alive for so long, ages after his soul had left him.

He would do this to the rest of the universe. Starting with Asgard and their golden city.

But only one thing stood in his way.

Ten arrows, rendered from beams of sunlight, soared over the battlefield. Fired from one of Odin's prized weapons. Malekith knew it instantly. _Ichaival_. The bow could fire multiple arrows in one draw.

Absolutely deadly in battle. Each arrow landed, striking a separate garrison. They didn't so much explode as they did as fracture, rays of light cutting away at each soldier, felling as many as a hundred in a single instance.

It was an announcement, an arrival. A bit bold, but since when were the Aesir otherwise? He saw it before it happened.

A flash of light, bright and piercing. Malekith shielded his eyes, feeling the ground shake as the god landed. The dust cleared, and Malekith lowered his hand.

There, crouched before him, the one prophesied to defeat Malekith. With the weapon forged from the heart of a dying star in one hand, and a bow crafted from the rays of the sun slung around his shoulder, stood the Prince of Light.

Baldur.

The God Who Could Not Die.

They shared not a word. The only challenge that passed between them was a steely glare. Neither would back down. Neither would surrender.

A battle to the death. A battle for honor. A battle for victory.

Baldur, so brash, attacked first.

He first drew Ichaival. Knocked an arrow before Malekith could even summon a blade from the shadows. Fired five that landed at his feet. But Malekith was already gone. Slipped away, sucked in by the Aether.

He appeared in the air behind Baldur, dropping out of a hole in the sky. As he fell, he readied his blade on the unsuspecting warrior — but Baldur swung out of the way, and Malekith's blade sank into the sand, sending up a wave of dust in every direction.

Now Baldur wielded Mjolnir. He had only set it down for a second, knowing no one else could lift the weapon but he. Mjolnir — _Crusher_ , as it was called in the ancient Aesir tongue, a formidable weapon that not even Malekith would risk being harmed by.

He ducked. Thunder ripped through the air as the hammer flew over Malekith's head. His head rung with the noise, leaving him momentarily disoriented.

In battle, Baldur was a beacon, every inch of him shining. Beautiful, awe-inspiring, and terrible, all at once. The Dark Elves, with their eyes suited to the endless darkness of the void, went utterly blind if they looked at him directly. Only Malekith, in his cloak of darkness, could stare at the brilliance head on, and see the face beneath.

Compared to the aging, bearded face of Odin Borson, Baldur was a mere boy. An open face, with only the faintest traces of a beard that the experienced Aesir warriors cultivated with pride. Less than a thousand years old, he had not seen the true horrors of war as Malekith had. He had not suffered and sacrificed as Malekith had. He could not conceive the power of the Aether, Malekith's own creation. The weapon he would use to destroy every last shred of Light left in this universe.

He summoned the Aether, writhing black and red tendrils consuming him from foot to head. Then, raising his arms, he sent it towards Baldur. The Aether tasted the light, devoured every last bit. It would make a meal out of the young god.

Only it never reached him.

Baldur's ever-present luminescence annihilated the outstretched Aether. Malekith stumbled back, alarmed. Nothing had ever defeated the Aether before.

Malekith knew he was doomed, but fought nonetheless. Baldur was undefeated. No blade could pierce his skin. No magic could make him bleed. Not even the Aether could consume Baldur's radiance. Even the Allfather Odin deferred to him in war.

Malekith had fought Odin's father, Bor, many millennia ago. That war he had lost. His pride kept him going, even though he knew he would lose this one, too.

He would not bring about Ragnarok. Malekith knew that now. Baldur was to be the first of the gods to die — but how could he die, if he was impervious to everything in the Nine Realms?

Not even the Aether could destroy him. The Aether, Darkness personified, could not destroy this Light.

Hammer fell, crashing into the black smoke. Lightning burst out, crackling through the air, striking Malekith in the chest. Right through him.

The Aether fell from his hands. Expunged from his body, writhing in pain. He reached out, begging for its numbing void, but it shrunk away, abandoning him.

 _Foul thing_. Malekith could feel his lungs failing. He gasped helplessly, and turned away from the Aether. The Aesir would take it, hide it again, but Malekith would find it. He would always find it.

Standing over him, Baldur gazed down at him, no sympathy in those dark eyes. _How strange_ , Malekith thought to himself. _That the Prince of Light would have eyes so dark. Wouldn't it be more fitting if they were the blue of the sky surrounding the sun?_

These were the thoughts of a dying man. Malekith struggled to maintain his grip on reality, but without the Aether, little made sense anymore. The world was too bright now. Baldur's light burned away his eyes, until he saw nothing but a blank emptiness.

"Your reign has come to an end, Malekith," Baldur's voice echoed somewhere above him, like a distant star, a scourge to his mind. "Your armies have all but been defeated. But if you destroy the Aether, my King may see fit to give you mercy, and let you live."

Life? Ha. As if Malekith could live after this. This was it. This was his failure. Malekith had seen it, but in his arrogance refused to believe it to be true.

Still, he would not let the god have the last word.

"Is this how it will come about, little Aesir?" He taunted Baldur, grinning even though it hurt. His body was on fire. His limbs, although dying, still twitched with the electricity running through his veins. "You defeat me, and take your place beside the throne? Await the day when Odin dies, and you take his place as Allfather?"

"Odin's reign will last a thousand years and a thousand more," Baldur snapped, not appreciating the sly threat. "He will not die so long as I am here to fight for him."

"Oh, do not play me for a fool." Malekith drawled, tired of this grandstanding. In a croaking voice, he asked, "I may be blind, but I can see into your heart. Your greatest desire. You wish to be the King of the Gods. But Asgard will never be yours."

"You lie," Baldur said, his snarl only a thin veil to the fear beneath. "My greatest honor is to serve Odin, and no one else."

Malekith laughed, blood falling from his lips. "Am I? You are the Beloved, are you not? Odin's favored. He has no sons, correct? He needs an heir. But you will never take the throne. You will die before it ever happens."

"Nothing can kill me," Baldur said with a confidence of a man too sure of himself, and Malekith felt the heat of an arrow pressing into his chest. He was almost disappointed. He'd rather be obliterated by the crushing power of Mjolnir. "Not even your abomination can touch me."

"True," Malekith smiled ruefully. If only it were not so. "But one day you will fall, Baldur. Mjolnir will choose another, someone more worthy than you shall ever be. Your ambition will destroy you, and I will rise again. And there will be no one to stop me from destroying Asgard. I will tear down every brick, each stone, I will slaughter every last Aesir! The rivers will run the red and the sky will be black, but I'll save your precious King for last. I won't kill him, until he has watched all the light of the universe die, until he is as blind as I am, and then," he choked, recovered, and crowed: "And _then_ I will kill him! And Asgard will fall!"

"Never!"

The arrow pierced his heart. Malekith died, cackling.

He died, knowing that, soon, Baldur would be no more. He died, knowing that only Baldur's light could destroy him.

Malekith would live again. And who would be left to stop him and the Aether?


	2. Chapter 1

**Though My Soul May Set in Darkness**

 **It Will Rise in Perfect Light**

 **I Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly**

 **To be Fearful of the Night**

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 **Chapter One**

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 _Cobrastyle / Teddybears_

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"Go, Gabby, go!"

Gleaming sunlight. Cheering crowds. Turf churned by cleats. A rush of bodies and swinging sticks. Red and white, head to head.

Left, then right. Cornered. Three defensive players closing in, with another two offense coming up behind. The white line was on her right, only a few feet away.

Gabrielle had the ball. Only a few seconds ago, she'd caught it from Sarah Gelding's hectic toss, panicked when three defensive players made to flatten her. Gabrielle skidded on her feet, grit her teeth. Damn, she needed an opening!

"Here, here!" Becka Kopernicky called, jumping up and down on the other end of the field. Although her words were muffled by the mouth guard, any lacrosse player who spent enough time with them could understand each other.

Gabrielle lifted her head, took a step back. A stout girl with two black bars across her cheeks launched herself at Gabrielle.

" _Oh, no, the Vikings offense is in trouble!"_

She side-stepped, winded up her arms. In one smooth motion, she launched the ball into the air.

" _A Hail Mary! That's gotta be twenty feet —"_ The announcer cried, disbelieving. " _Kopernicky catches the ball, Vikings have the offense! She's going for it! Can the Redhawks stop her in time?"_

The players that had cornered Gabrielle suddenly forgot about her, turning on their heels and chasing after Becka, who already had a great lead on them. Gabrielle only had a moment to revel in her save, before throwing herself back into the action.

Gabrielle was a middie — midfielder — she could play the entire field, whilst alternating between offense and defense. Fast enough to get the ball from one end to the other, and smart enough to dictate the game when fending off the enemy.

Although it was a lot to worry about, Gabrielle liked it because it meant fewer rules to break. No boundaries, just the game.

Although the sky was darkening, the field was lit up by a dozen floodlights, casting synthetic daylight across the field. It wasn't as good as the real thing, but it kept Gabrielle from getting distracted nonetheless. As long as she didn't look too hard at the dark corners, she didn't have to worry about anything besides the game.

Becka made the goal, and the buzzer rang for a break. The players filtered off the field, and the Vikings gathered around Coach Brennan. They were all panting and sweating, and Gabrielle took her headgear off for bit of relief — the eyeguard was starting to pinch her cheeks and

Brennan eyed her disciples with sharp blue eyes, hand on one hip and whistle in the other. "Alright, ladies, we're doing better! Becka's gotten us a few well-needed points, so give her a hand! And Gabby, that was a good shot! Jess, I want you on tip-off, let's keep the ball with us. Katie, get your head in the game, don't be afraid to get up and personal. They aren't bulldozers, they can't run you over, so get in their way and stop them! Mel can't do all the defense for you at the net. Gabby, stay on offense, try to get ahead of them as long as you can. Don't get cornered again! That last quarter was looking a little shaky, but we're catching up. We need three more points if we want to show those Redhawks who's really in charge of Michigan. And we only got a minute and a half left, so make those seconds count! You got all that? _Who's ready to pillage?!_ "

"We are!"

It was the Vikings favorite phrase, and as corny as it sounded in the pep rallies and speeches, Coach Brennan had a way of making it rile up the bloodthirst of her team.

"Let's go, Vikings!" Coach Brennan said, clapping her hands with the power of a thunderstorm as she sent them back onto the field. Gabrielle flipped her helmet back on.

A new cheer rose up from the stands as two girls from either team readied themselves in the center circle, placed one stick over the other. They glared daggers at each other as the referee came over and placed the ball in the center, before quickly jogging backwards.

Gabrielle took her position behind Vikings defense, chewing on her mouthguard and twisting her stick in her grip. Nearby, Becka was hopping from one foot to the other, impatient to start.

Springfield's Red Hawks was their toughest opposition yet. They had a larger school with better funding, thanks to private donations made by wealthy, invested parents. But Springfield had nothing on the Mountmend Vikings, who made up for their disadvantage with excellent teamwork and exceptional players.

Like Gabrielle, for instance.

" _Let's go, Vikings, let's go!_ " The lyrics sang from the stands. Parents and kids, painted in blue and orange, waving signs and stomping their feet in time to the _We Will Rock You_ . " _Let's go, Vikings, let's go!"_

Jess Nyugen didn't flinch as she stared down her opponent over the ball. Everyone tensed, waiting for the shriek of the ref's whistle.

Gabrielle shared a nod with Clara Dunwoody, who promptly screened an opposing player as soon as the whistle went off. That left Gabrielle free to charge around unopposed, breaking through the Redhawk's defense quick and early, and leaving her open for the next pass.

But Jess flicked her stick a little too slow, and the ball flew to the Redhawk's side. Two Redhawks caught onto Gabrielle's plan faster than the Vikings could recover. Gabrielle found herself strafing back and forth; one Redhawk bumped her with a hip, trying to guide Gabrielle away, all the while Gabrielle outmaneuvering without coming into full contact and getting herself called out in a foul — it was difficult maintaining a strong position without tiring herself out.

Not being a full-contact sport was one of the many obstacles a girls' lacrosse player had to deal with. It was like playing football with invisible shields around you — touching was almost entirely off limits, and it wouldn't be the first time Gabrielle got called out for getting a little bit rough. It was a lot different than boys' lacrosse, which had fewer rules and more bruises.

Katie, a defense player, ended up with the ball. She was in the back of the field on the Vikings side, unsure of what to do, not used to being in this position. The entire Redhawk offense was on top of her, and only Becka and a pissed-off Jess was there to help her. They were split off from her, but Katie, in a last ditch attempt to keep the ball, switched her hand positions, pivoted around a hip check, and tossed the ball into the air.

She didn't even aim. Jess threw herself forward, shoving out her stick. Another Redhawk did the same.

The Redhawks had the ball.

The player scrambled back up, dodging Clara and spinning around for the goal, only ten feet away. Katie readied herself into a wide stance.

Gabrielle abandoned her position as offense, came charging in. She heard Coach Brennan shouting at her, but didn't catch the words. She had to stop the goal.

Redhawk went for the throw.

Katie caught the ball.

Slung it at Gabrielle.

Gabrielle brought up her stick just in time. Caught the ball like a batter swinging for a home run. In one move, she tossed it to Becka, then spun on her heel, making back for the way she came.

Becka didn't even make it to the mid-field line. Gabrielle had already overshot her when she heard Becka call, "Gabby! Take it!"

Hannah and Vanessa watched helplessly from the Redhawks side, useless as offense players unable to get to homefield. Gabrielle, a little out of breath and starting to feel dizzy with all this turning around, once more faced the other way.

Another Redhawk was coming straight for Gabrielle. She'd intercept before Gabrielle could catch the pass.

Becka threw the ball just before a huge Redhawk tried to screen her. Becka stumbled, tripping over her own sneakers in order to avoid it.

In a move that almost lost her balance, Gabrielle bounced back on her tiptoes, leaning forward with her stick up and outstretched, and caught the ball just as the Redhawk passed underneath it.

Yes!

" _Breit makes a fast break across the field!_ " The announcer called over the PA system, his voice echoing across the stands. " _She's on the offense! She's too fast!"_

Breath fast. Heartbeat racing, feet darting across the field. Red trailed behind her. They could never catch up.

Stick check, bouncing off hers at about chest height, trying to dislodge the ball. But Gabrielle held on, didn't lose her pace.

"C'mon, Gabby!" Jess called, intercepting a defense player about to block into Gabrielle. They nearly collided, and spun away from each other like two raging whirlpools.

" _We have less than a minute on the clock! Vikings and Red Hawks are neck and nec k_ _!"_ The announcer called. " _Can Breit make it?_ "

Four meters. Three meters.

Another defense player rounded on her. Her red jersey, emblazoned with a large 89, reminded Gabrielle of those capes matadors waved at bulls. The girl had to have at least thirty pounds on Gabrielle, maybe another three inches in height. 89's eyes glinted behind her headgear — something about her expression said that she wouldn't mind hurting Gabrielle, to get a foul, take one for the team, so long as she didn't get the point.

Were the Redhawks that desperate? Getting a foul would put the game into overtime. It would give the ball to the Vikings for another go.

Number 89 huffed once, then charged.

A chill went up Gabrielle's arms. This girl was going to hit her.

But another go would mean the Redhawks had another chance to take it back. An unorthodox strategy. A part of Gabrielle wasn't surprised. The Redhawks had a reputation for winning on technicalities.

Gabrielle kept running straight on, as if nothing stood in her way. Her grip clenched tighter around her stick. She forced herself to wait until the last second. Maybe Gabrielle didn't always follow the rules, but she'd be damned if she screwed up now. There was no way the Redhawks were getting a foul.

89 had the momentum of a freight train. There was no way for her to stop in time to catch Gabrielle's ploy. She zigzagged, trying to anticipate Gabrielle's next move.

It was all in the timing.

89 came so close Gabrielle could smell the sweat on the larger girl. Her left shoulder brushed Gabrielle's right.

Gabrielle spun backwards on her heel.

Slipped right around 89.

And swung her stick.

Number 89 steamrolled past, letting out a cry of surprise when she tripped on her own momentum. Gabrielle smirked, then flicked her wrists. The ball sailed off her stick and towards the net.

The goalie missed, crashing to the ground.

"AND SHE SCORES! _VIKINGS WIN_!"

Gabrielle didn't have time to turn around before half a dozen hands came pounding on her back. She was suddenly dogpiled by her teammates, crying and cheering with such fervor her ears rang.

"We did it!" Jess cried, throwing her fist into the air. "We're going to Regionals!"

The stands emptied as the cheering fans washed out onto the field, congratulating the Lady Vikings and consoling the losing Redhawks. One girl in red threw away her stick in a fit of rage; it went spinning into the stands, clocking the poor popcorn vendor on the noggin.

"All right, everyone, to the showers!" Coach Brennan called, clapping her hands with that same power. "You all stink!"

It was said with love, and twenty-odd girls stumbled and laughed off the field. Surrounded by her friends, Gabrielle didn't hesitate to step out of the halo of light surrounding the field.

* * *

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* * *

"That was the best game we've played in _ages_ ," Jess said from her stall, to Gabrielle's right. The showerhead turned off and Gabrielle heard the shower curtain open. "I can't believe you made that fucking throw, Gabs."

"Forget the throw," Clara snorted from somewhere by the lockers. "I can't believe you got away with that sprint. Brennan would flay me alive if I didn't try to make a pass."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I thought you did great stopping that goal in the first quarter," Gabrielle called as she reached for her towel, shutting off the faucet before slipping out. The locker-room air was a little chilly, steam wafting from the dozen other showers still taking place. "Even if it did cost us a foul. Honestly, you should join the wrestling team."

"Damn straight," Jess and Clara high-fived. Clara grinned at her, bright orange freckles practically jumping off her cheeks, "Did you see the look on the girl's face when I blocked her? Augh, she looked so pissed, I thought she was going to turn into the Hulk!"

"Or when 65 tripped on me did a faceplant right into the ground?" Jess dragged her thumb across her throat. Her short black hair was plastered to her head, showing the three ear piercings that got her grounded for month last year."Rip!"

Jess was another middie with a lean on tip-offs; Clara, a defense player with the shoulders of a linebacker, clearly taking after her Scottish ancestors (her grandpa came to all their games wearing a kilt). Together, the three of them were a team onto itself, and the Vikings were at their best when all of them were on the field.

Gabrielle was neither the tallest nor the strongest girl on the team, but it might be wrong to say she wasn't one of their top players, if not the best. She wasn't dumb enough to brag about it, of course, but she liked knowing she was important, that this team wouldn't be half as good without her.

Already she could hear her father chiding: _Don't let it get to your head, Gabby. No matter where you are, you always have two feet on the ground._

"So where's that skinny ass heading to now?" Jess asked as Gabrielle grabbed her clothes from her locker. "Sarah's throwing a party at her place, and I heard Mike Orley might be spiking the punch, if you know what I mean."

"No way! After a win? Brennan would kick us off the team if she found out!" Clara gasped, scandalized.

"Are you kidding? She'd let us get away with murder after making it to Regionals," Jess laughed with the wickedness of someone with nothing good planned.

"Well, I'm not going," Gabrielle interrupted before they could argue further, and when she received equal looks of shock, she just shrugged. "Sorry. You know how my dad is. And...well, I don't like going anywhere after dark."

"Oh," Jess and Clara shared equal looks of understanding. They were well aware of Gabrielle's issue, and knew better than to push it. Jess said, "Well, I'll bring you some party favors tomorrow. You better believe we're gonna be the heroes of school. Maybe I can get Mrs. Jenson to give me a pass on that Chem test…"

"Oh, what's that I hear?" came the shrill tone of Vanessa Hatch. Gabrielle winced, and just managed to pull on her shorts before the owner of said voice came around the corner, sneering at the three of them. "Our intrepid hero can't make it to the party? Oh no, whatever will we do?"

Gabrielle threw her a sour look. "Can I help you, Vanessa?"

Vanessa was not only the fastest girl on the team, but also the one with biggest grudge against Gabrielle, some old bitter relic from middle school, long before either of them joined the lacrosse team. Gabrielle couldn't quite remember what started the rivalry, but whatever it was, it had spurred Vanessa to making Gabrielle's life hell whenever opportunity came knocking.

Like Jess and Clara, she knew about Gabrielle's fear. Unlike them, however, Vanessa thought it was hilarious.

"No," Vanessa gave her a shit-eating grin. "I just wanted to see if you'll ever get done being a scared little bitch. What, are you afraid the shadows are gonna getcha?"

She shot clawed hands at Gabrielle, before throwing her head back and cackling. "Ooo, look out, everyone, don't turn out the lights! Or Gabrielle's gonna have a fit! Remember that time when the power went out Freshman year during a bad storm, and you started crying, right in front of Will? Hashtag sadface. Runny mascara was never a good look on you, Gabby sweetheart."

Gabrielle's face went hot. She hadn't moved or spoken for a whole minute — she was too busy restraining the urge of going over there and throttling Vanessa with her bare hands. Meanwhile, the locker-room erupted with snickers and snorts as the rest of the team tried to hide their laughter. Only Jess and Clara didn't smile, sharing awkward looks with each other.

Jess had the presence of mind to grab Gabrielle's arm before she could try anything, and Vanessa stepped back, mocking horror. "Oooh, better watch out, girls, Gabby's on the warpath! Just turn off all the lights and you'll be safe!"

"Oh, fuck off, Hatch!" Gabrielle snapped, grabbing her towel and snapping it over her shoulder. "If you wanna talk big game, then I say you better work on that hand-eye coordination, before you drop another pass!"

The grin fell off Vanessa's face. She was notorious for dropping the ball — literally — whenever it was her turn to catch something. Coach Brennan was always on her ass about it, yet Vanessa seemed unable to get any better. It was pretty bad, considering she was offense and catching passes was practically half her job. In this game alone she dropped the ball three times, costing them precious time and points.

The air grew tense, all laughter waning away as the girls in the locker room shifted uneasily. Vanessa glared at Gabrielle and Gabrielle glared back — along with Clara and Jess, leaving Vanessa outnumbered. Vanessa usually had Sarah and Katie as back-up, but the other two had left early. Vanessa was team captain by virtue of popularity and a certain outgoing nature Gabrielle couldn't match, and there wasn't much either side could do at this point.

Vanessa pointed two fingers at her eyes, then at them. "You better watch yourself, Breit, or I'll _give_ you something to be afraid of."

Gabrielle's only response was to stick her tongue out, because she was a little more immature than she'd like to admit. And she couldn't think of a good comeback. She couldn't win all her battles.

As soon as Vanessa stalked off, Jess patted Gabrielle on the shoulder. "Nice one, Gabby. You really showed her."

It was a lot more sarcastic than Gabrielle liked, but she just nodded anyways. "Thanks. I guess."

"I thought you were going to kill her," Clara remarked with a grin, and for a second looked disappointed. "Which is too bad, we haven't had a real catfight at Mountmend in months. We need to liven things up around here."

Clara loved drama, as much as she avoided it herself. Gabrielle tended to get more involved than she liked, and it was more due to her own hotheadedness rather than the more typical pettiness some other girls (ahem. Vanessa) had. The thing she hated the worst about drama was when the teachers and parents had to get involved. She always dreaded the moment when her dad had to come to school because there was an issue between her and another student (again, usually Vanessa).

They had traded blows more than once, and Gabrielle's gone home a few times with more bruises or scratches than she had when she left. It wasn't something she was particularly proud of.

"It could've been worse," Gabrielle admitted, her shoulders sagging. She bent down to pick up her backpack, trying to ground herself in its weight and remind herself to keep a cool head. Her blood was still pumping from the game. Big events like this tended to make her a little more hotheaded than usual.

"The amount of truth in that statement is what really scares me," Jess said, before scrubbing a towel over her head. When she picked up her head again, she looked like she'd traded her hair for a giant hedgehog. She cast Gabrielle a wicked grin, "But don't worry, if and when it happens again, we got your back."

"Thanks," Gabrielle said again, and this time she meant it. Casting Clara and Jess one last smile and wave, she headed out of the locker room, deftly avoiding Vanessa as she chatted with Becka about the upcoming party.

The thing was, Gabrielle just didn't do parties. Of any kind. Not house parties, not school dances, nothing that took place after dark. She just couldn't do it. The fear was too much.

Luckily, there was still a tiny bit of light out as she left the gym and headed for the front lawn of Mountmend High. She'd been quick in the shower after Coach Brennan gave her debriefing speech. Although it was mid-March, the air was still chilly at night. Gabrielle wrapped her sweater more tightly around her shoulders, regretting having worn shorts today.

The school was surprisingly empty now. There were only a few cars left in the faculty parking lot, and almost everyone who'd been at the game had left, or were waiting inside to collect their daughters. Gabrielle was left alone by the bus stop, a cold wind rustling up last season's dead leaves.

She was already regretting coming out here on her own. Even though there were streetlights here, their light wasn't nearly as comforting as the floodlights of the lacrosse field had been. Maybe she should go back inside and text Dad, see where he was —

 _CAW!_

Gabrielle jumped, spinning around. A raven stood perched on top of the bus stop sign, peering down at her with one gleaming black eye. It was huge — Gabrielle had never seen a raven up close before; It was bigger than a housecat, with a great black beak as long as her index finger, and its neck ruff fluffed out like a lion's mane. She hadn't heard the bird fly in. Had it been waiting there the whole time?

It croaked at her again, a deep, almost guttural sound. Gabrielle took a half-step back, slightly disoriented. There was something about the _tone_ of its voice, accusing her of something.

Gabrielle didn't like it. "What? What do you want?"

The raven's silhouette was a hole in the purple-orange of the evening sky. The sun had just set, and the clammy jitters had already started climbing up her arms. She glanced around — there was no one nearby. All the other girls had left, or were still inside the gym. The raven only had eyes for her.

"Shoo!" Gabrielle told it, when it continued to stare. She knew from biology class that ravens were a type of corvid — like crows and magpies, they were clever, fascinated by shiny things. But Gabrielle wasn't wearing any jewelry. She touched her collarbone, just to make sure.

She tilted her head. The raven blinked, then tilted its head in the same direction. It didn't move from its spot.

Chills went up her spine at the mimicry, and Gabrielle turned sharply, putting her back to the raven. Making a quick retreat back for the doors, she muttered under her breath, "Dumb bird…"

"Gabby?" a voice came from the darkness.

She jumped, letting out a tiny cry. Spinning around, she turned to face the source of the voice, only to see her father emerged from the shadow behind their van — she hadn't even seen it, or him, and had passed right on by.

Dad pushed his wheelchair up the short incline to the sidewalk, and into the light beside her. He cast her a teasing grin. "Hey, it's all right! It's just me, you're totally lame, unimposing father."

Gabrielle relaxed with a huff, her arms hanging at herself. She threw him a disapproving look. "Don't say 'lame', Dad, please."

Gabrielle bore a passing resemblance to her father — she had his brown hair, but he was paler than her. She spent most of her time in the sun, so her naturally olive skin had a golden-brown tan. And he had blue eyes, while hers were such a dark brown they were almost black. She may have gotten her nose or her mouth from her mother, but having never seen a picture and been raised only by her dad, Gabrielle would never know.

"What? It's just a word," he said with a grin, pulling his hands from the wheels of his chair in a carefree shrug. Dr. Breit was many things, and a pessimist wasn't one of them. A wheelchair didn't hinder the wattage of energy he exuded at every passing moment. "I thought all dads were lame, one way or another. We don't let you drink, or date, or drive. We're the opposite of cool."

"Well, I think you're pretty cool," Gabrielle smiled, knowing what he meant before he had to explain it. She didn't know why she was sensitive about more things than he was, considering their respective positions in the family hierarchy. "It would be even cooler if you let me drive this time."

"Hmm, that depends," Dad cast her a skeptical look, light reflecting off the lenses of his black glasses. He pulled the van keys from his pocket and tossing them up and down in his hand, giving it a moment of thought. "Can you handle it? It's going to get darker on the way home."

"I can totally handle it," Gabrielle snorted, crossing her arms at the challenge. "As long as you're there."

That seemed to do the trick. Dad smiled, charmed by the answer, and tossed her the keys. "Well, well, look at you, Slick. Fine, you can drive, but promise me you'll stop shining your brights in other driver's eyes. We don't want any blind revenge car crashes here."

"Gotcha," Gabrielle's smile twitched a little. She'd only recently gotten her learner's license, and was still struggling with making habits. For instance, not using her headlights at full power at all times. It was bad enough not using the overhead dash light at night. Driving in a dark car was almost as bad as driving at night. "I'll be safe, I promise."

"Attagirl," Her dad winked at her, then spun his chair around and did a wheelie off the sidewalk. "Hi-ho, Silver!"


	3. Chapter 2

**Expect irregular updates. I'm not used to publishing two stories at once, sorry Dx**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

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* * *

Darkness pressed in around the car.

Gabrielle had the wheel in a death grip. She directed the van down a lonely country road that she knew like the back of her hand, but looked so different at night. On either side, tree branches appeared out of the dark like sharp, gnarled, snatching fingers as they passed. The Moon glimmered from behind the treetops, giving only tiny reprieve. The only way ahead was shown by the two yellow beams from the headlights, illuminating every bush, rock, and tree trunk in stark shadows. Gabrielle couldn't wait to get home.

"Easy there, speed demon," her dad chuckled and she nearly jumped when he touched her arm. "You're ten miles over the speed limit. There's no rush, okay?"

Gabrielle nodded stiffly, and with some reluctance, eased off the gas a little. She already hated herself for asking for the keys. Gabrielle loved driving — but only in the daytime.

Still, she needed the night hours in order to get her driver's license and there really was no other way to do it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the glint of Dad's glasses when he turned his head. Perhaps sensing her heightened stress, he said, "You're doing fine, Gabby. There's nothing to be afraid of. We're almost home."

Gabrielle took that as reaffirming — that she could do this, that nothing bad would happen. Of course, her anxiety said differently, and it was a task altogether just to ignore it.

A few minutes later (that felt like hours), Gabrielle finally pulled the car into the half-hidden driveway behind some pine trees. The way was dark, but the crunch of gravel was soothing, and as she slowed down, the garage lights flickered to life, activated by their presence. She could finally let go of the wheel. Her hands left behind two warm spots, her palms sweating.

She undid her seatbelt and stepped out of the car, into the circle of light create by the garage. Their home was a single-floor, modern structure, with an asymmetrical roof breaking the treeline against the moonlit sky. It was a welcome sight after a fifteen minute drive in the growing night.

Inside was cool and empty. The house had a mostly open floor plan, meaning high ceilings and not a lot of walls. The place had a certain din to it when there were people around, and sound carried easily. Her footsteps echoed off the hollow tile, and Gabrielle didn't consider herself officially relaxed until she flicked on the hallway, kitchen, and living room lights. Soon the entire house was back to life — with the TV on, sound low, just for good measure. Even the shelves, with their old books and manuscripts, the occasional artefact, had lights of their own. The sense of the place being lived in, of being full, was the best thing she needed on a dark night.

She flopped on the couch, letting her head fall back, and released a deep sigh. Home. Light. Safe.

"You know, if I didn't know any better," her father called behind her in the kitchen. The fridge door opening and closing. The sound of a root beer being cracked open. "I'd say you were more happy to be home than you are winning the big game."

"It's not the Big Game," Gabrielle said, lifting her head a little. "It's _a_ big game. But not _the_ Big Game. If we even make it that far."

"Hey, now," Dad said reproachfully, rolled over next to the couch. He handed her a bottle, and Gabrielle gratefully accepted the root beer. It was her favorite celebratory drink; they had one after every win. "No negativity after winning. You should be celebrating, having fun! I can't believe I, the responsible parent, has to tell his own kid that. For shame."

He was joking, and Gabrielle just rolled her eyes. "Just trying to stay realistic, Dad. The Red Hawks were tough, but they haven't won anymore championships than we have. We'll be up against better teams now."

Dad studied her for a second, squinting a little. "What did that Vanessa girl say to you this time?"

"What? How did you know?"

"Because I'm your father, it's my job to know these things. And I know Vanessa is a bitch," Dad replied, making Gabrielle laugh despite herself. He smiled for a brief second, pleased to have gotten a positive reaction, before continuing, "She always ruins your mood. So, what did she say?"

Gabrielle heaved a sigh, running a hand over her face. "Nothing, just stupid stuff. Everyone's having a party tonight, but I didn't want to go and she, you know, decided it would be hilarious to make fun of me."

"Because you're afraid of the dark?" Dad asked, raising an eyebrow.

Gabrielle threw him an annoyed look. What was it with parents asking the obvious, embarrassing questions? She took a sip of her root beer, looked away and tried not to look like she was glaring. "Yeah. That."

It must have been pretty obvious she was still sore about the fight, because he reached out, placed a gentle hand on her arm. When she looked back around, he spoke softly, "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Gabby. Everyone's afraid of something."

"It's not about being ashamed!" Gabrielle complained, shaking her head. "I mean, Vanessa's right, I'm just — I can't get over it. Ashamed or not I still can't do some of the things they can. And until that changes, she's not going to stop!"

Dad nodded, but didn't say anything for a long moment. "It is an interesting predicament. I suppose it would be stupid to ask if you've already told your coach about it?"

Gabrielle didn't even need to give him an answer. The expression on her face was enough. He nodded sagely. "Ah, I thought so. Well, how about for the moment, we enjoy this root beer, and think about how to exact revenge later, okay? Meanwhile, I have to grease this left wheel, it's getting squeaky again..."

"Sure, Dad," Gabrielle smiled, taking another swig of her root beer.

Dad had been in a wheelchair for as long as she could remember. A few years before she was born, he'd been in a bad car accident — t-boned by a truck at an intersection — that had shattered his hips and damaged his spinal cord. He lived, of course, but Gabrielle noted he didn't dwell on the experience. Whenever the topic came up, Dad preferred to focus on his survival rather than the event itself.

He wasn't completely paralyzed, which was the initial prognosis of the doctors at the time. He still had use and feeling in his legs, and there was always the rare day when he was strong enough to walk with a cane, at least for a few hours. It happened every so often when she was younger, but in recent years Gabrielle noticed her father walking less and less.

Gabrielle tried not to think about it too much. She couldn't see her father as anything other than strong and vibrant, the most reliable person in her life.

Even though Gabby didn't have a mother, she counted herself pretty lucky. Some might consider Dr. Breit to be one of the "Cool Dads". She wasn't sure how true that was (driving had been a chore to earn, he never let her drink or smoke even at someone else's place, and never let her skip school unless she was actually sick, but she liked to think they were usually on the same page. It made solving problems easier, at least.

"There's something else I have to tell you."

Gabrielle looked up from the TV, frowning. "What is it?"

For the first time that night, her father seemed to have genuinely lost his jovial air. Instead, his expression had become pinched, apologetic. "I know you've been really looking forward to your birthday this weekend…"

She didn't even need to hear the words before the seed of doubt was planted in her gut. When Gabby heard that, however, she just slumped into the couch. She finished his sentence: "You're not coming, are you?"

"I'm really sorry, Gabby." Dad winced. "I tried to have the conference rescheduled, or just show up later but I can't. It's not something I can miss. My work hinges on this."

"I understand," Gabrielle murmured, her gaze falling to the bottle in her hand. She spun it around slowly, watching the little beads of condensation run down the brown glass. She shrugged. "It's your job, Dad, I get it."

It was true, sort of. This wasn't the first time Dad had missed out on an important event due to his work. He was a historian, an expert on ancient Nordic cultures. His work included a lot of traveling, a lot of meetings. Gabrielle was used to it; she was sure a lot of kids had busy parents like she did. She couldn't demand her father be perfect. "It's just one birthday."

"I know, but you're turning sixteen," Her dad said, shaking his head to himself. "You've been talking about it for weeks and...It's a big day, and not just for you. They call it Sweet Sixteen for a reason, right?"

"How long will you be gone?" Gabrielle said, not answering his question. Dad was right, but she didn't know how to explain.

What made sixteenth birthdays so special, anyways? What made them different than any other birthday before that?

"Just the weekend. I'm leaving Friday morning." he replied, apparently not picking up on her dodge. "You'll be alone for a few days. You think you'll be all right?"

"Me, a teenager, left to her own whim for a whole three days?" Gabrielle asked sarcastically. "I'll be completely helpless. I won't even know what do with myself without you."

"What did I do to deserve such a rebellious daughter?" Dad asked, good-natured sarcasm. He elbowed her lightly, "Hey, I know it might not mean much, but I still want you to have a good time, so feel free to invite some friends over, okay? As long as you don't feel too alone and as long as their parents are okay with it," then he held up a finger, and added as an afterthought, " _And_ no one that's going to turn a museum into a playhouse."

He meant the old artefacts they kept around the house — her father, befitting his job, had a private collection of Nordic artefacts, and many of them weapons. Old arrowheads, daggers and swords, helmets and belt buckles. Things a rowdy, idiot teenager my take out to play with, pretend to be a great Viking warrior. Gabrielle knew, because she used to do that when she was younger, and a little too willful for her own good.

His most prized possession lied above the mantle of the fireplace — a 1400-year-old warbow. It was actually rather unique, as it was made of yew, and somehow managed to survive this long without major damage. Things made from organic materials like wood, wool, or leather tended to degrade too quickly; thus, why most museums were filled with hardier stuff, like bones, clay and metal. But the warbow had been found by Dr. Breit himself in an old warrior's cairn somewhere in Finland, some thirty-odd years ago. The bow's discovery was what rocketed Dr. Breit to the status he had today, as world-renowned historian and a part-time archeologist. If anything ever happened to it, he'd be devastated.

Not even Gabrielle was allowed to touch it. Although it had lasted this long, the warbow was incredibly fragile. It no longer held the same strength or tension it had in its glory days. One wrong touch and the bow would just snap turn into splinters.

Because of it, she rarely brought home any friends she didn't trust around such artifacts which, according to some of her dad's colleagues, were " _immaculate_ ", " _priceless_ ", and " _Jesus, Bill, why do you still have that thing_?"

"No problem," Gabrielle said. She trusted most of her friends, and those she knew would be a problem, she didn't like enough to invite anyways. "I promise not to burn the house down while you're away."

"I'd be more surprised if it didn't."

Around midnight, Gabrielle was still up, checking her phone. The house had been rendered dark again, her father sound asleep in the next room. But Gabrielle wasn't tired just yet. Her friends were still out partying, live-posting on their feeds various pictures and videos of all the fun they were having.

Drinking, kissing, dancing on tables… and here she was, in her pajamas, hugging Fenris to her chest in a dark bedroom.

Fenris was her favorite stuffed animal, a gray wolf whose chest glowed whenever she squeezed him. Even though she was almost sixteen, Gabrielle still slept with him every night. She didn't feel embarrassed about it, though. At least she didn't sleep with her phone under her pillow, like Katie did.

Her room was spacious, like the rest of the house. Even in the dark, she could make out her trophy shelf, the stack textbooks on her desk, her lacrosse equipment dumped in a pile outside her closet. There was a night-light by her door, a beacon of sorts, leading the way out should she ever need it. There were more like in the house, the hallway, the bathroom. Gabrielle used to wake up Dad when she was little, turning on all the lights when she wanted to go to the bathroom. The night-lights, and Fenris, were little solutions of his to keep them both happy. He was always clever like that.

Her windows were large, facing the forest. The moon glimmered through the curtains, setting a soft silver glow across her bedspread.

Gabrielle held her hand out in front of her, just where the moonlight fell. It wasn't a strong or as comforting as sunlight, but it was pretty close, especially when it was this dark. Her tanned skin appeared silver under the moonlight. It was almost...cold.

A creak.

Gabrielle's head snapped up. A sound had emitted just outside her door. The floorboards here made noise when walked upon. She leaned back a little, eyeing the door. It was closed, and she couldn't tell if there was anything beyond it. "...Dad? Is that you?"

No answer. Gabrielle frowned, looked back at her hand. She thought it was just nothing, until she heard another creak, further away.

Now curious, she lifted herself from her bed. Gently, she eased her door open, and peered into the hallway.

It was completely dark, aside from the nightlight slowly alternating between the colors of the rainbow. It cast a ghostly glow across the closed-in walls, a strange pulse-like effect as the light changed from green, to blue, to purple, to magenta…

There was no one there. The bathroom door was open. Dad's was closed.

Gabrielle paused for a moment, before ducking her head back inside her room. She closed the door softly, taking care not to wake her father. This house wasn't that old. Maybe twenty years, tops. It didn't usually make noise unless it was someone making them. It was usually the worst during bad storms, when the wind would whistle and natural debris would occasionally hit the house… but that wasn't the case here.

Hm.

Gabrielle turned, returned to her bed.

And almost screamed.

Someone stood just outside her window.

A black silhouette of a man, so tall that they had nearly been eye-level, with Gabrielle on the raised floor of the house. Broad shoulders and a hunched stance.

The very edges of him were illuminated by the moon; long, pale hair, bulky leather clothing.

He didn't move, but somehow Gabrielle knew he was real, alive.

A predator.

Gabrielle whirled around, smacked her hand on the light switch. She spun again, ready to face the creep in her window.

But it was empty.

The shadow had vanished.

Her heart skipped a beat. Gabrielle's breath came in sharp bursts, her heart racing. Her room illuminated, it seemed as though nothing had been there at all. The light blue walls were comforting, the soft carpet warm beneath her feet. Shaking a little, she stepped over to the window, pressed her face against the glass.

Nothing outside her window. No animals or trees. Nothing close enough to have created the image she'd seen only seconds before.

Gabrielle stepped back, hand against her chest. A chill went up her spine.

Had she just imagined it? Maybe the moonlight had just reflected strangely off the glass, making her see things. She'd heard of those, of strange hallucinations attributed to tricks of the light. How the sailors of old claimed to see ships sailing upside down in the far distance. How something as massive as a man o' war could vanished against the horizon. But it wasn't magic. It was just the sun, the atmosphere, the water's reflection, and just the right distance warping images to something the mind couldn't comprehend.

Something similar had to have happened here. It wasn't the first time Gabrielle's eyes saw something in the darkness that wasn't actually there. Trees could look like humans, a deer's eyes like a demon, a fisher cat mimicking the sound of a baby's wail. All haunting her in the dead of night.

Still, Gabrielle was a little shaken. In her mind, darkness was just as real and solid as anything else, something tangible to be feared. Drawing the curtains closed, she stepped back. Had to will herself to turn off the lights. Then practically dove into her bed, grabbed Fenris, and pulled the covers up over her head.

It was childish. But Gabrielle felt safe beneath her comforter, Fenris' soft glow against her chest, knowing no monster could reach her there.

* * *

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* * *

Gabrielle had been afraid of the dark for as long as she could remember.

It was a child's fear that had been indulged for too long, and now Gabrielle was more or less settled with dealing with it for the rest of her life. She wasn't sure what started it, what instance, if there was any, had provoked this negative instinct to any darkness too hard to see through.

All she knew was that it was getting to be a real pain in the ass.

When she woke up that next morning, Gabrielle was relieved to see the sun again. Still, she was a little keyed-up going to school, eyeing the house as she drove off. Gabrielle still wasn't sure what she saw last night, if it had even been real.

On the bright side, thanks to being unable to attend last night's party, Gabrielle was the only one of her friends who wasn't sleep-deprived (AKA: hungover). That included Vanessa, who seemed to exhausted today to give Gabrielle any grief.

"So your old man's gonna be out for the weekend?" Jess asked during English class, as they worked through _A_ _Catcher in the Rye._ "Dude, that's awesome! We can have a total rager at your house finally!"

"Ooor we can _not_ do that," Gabrielle replied, eyebrows shooting upwards. She knew Jess wasn't serious (mostly), but was legitimately afraid that if she had a party, it would get out of hand. "My dad would freak if anything important broke. You know what kind of stuff we have at home. It's not just your regular family heirlooms. It's, like, _history_."

"I get that," Clara said, sitting next to her. "When my mom was a kid, her brother accidentally broke this old robe pin, that was made of silver and had like, real emeralds and stuff in it. When Grandpa found out, he wouldn't talk for weeks. Apparently the pin's been in our family for centuries. We still have the pieces."

"So you're saying your family's honor is at stake here?" Jess threw Gabrielle a skeptical look. Then she nodded approvingly. "Nice. I promise, then, not to make an embarrassment of you on Saturday."

"Much appreciated," Gabrielle said dryly, throwing a sidelong glance in Jess's direction before scribbling down an answer on her worksheet. "It should be fun, though. Dad's been so busy, he probably won't notice if I invite more than ten people…"

"Yeah!" Jess slammed her fist against the table. "Stick it to the Man!"

Gabrielle smiled at the enthusiasm, but she wasn't sure if she was committed to the idea of rebellion. It wasn't that bad, was it? Less than ten people meant a manageable party situation, which Gabrielle _did_ want...but Gabrielle had more friends than that. Hell, more than half the lacrosse team would be missing out, and Gabrielle didn't want anyone to think she was picking favorites of her teammates. Especially not now, as they were heading deeper into the season. Sowing resentment this early was bound to cause problems.

...Then again, that meant she didn't have to invite Vanessa.

Gabrielle sighed. It was still a work in progress.

"Not saying it's a good idea or not," Clara said, with an air of diplomacy. "But you still got time to choose. It's what, six days away? That should be enough time to set-up. And we can help, too, if you want."

"I'm thinking something like a bachelorette party," Jess said, grinning from ear to ear, eyes unfocused as she envisioned it. "with champagne glasses and tiaras, a big-ass cake... oh, and cowboy strippers —!"

Jess couldn't finish the sentence without laughing, the their table was reduced to barely stifled giggles as they broke down. The teacher, Mrs. Hanson, threw them a disapproving look, clearing her throat when they failed to calm down after a long second. "Is everything all right there, ladies? I hope you're not getting distracted."

"N-nope," Gabrielle hiccuped, doing her best to swallow another burst of giggles as she gave Mrs. Hanson her best innocent look. "We're good here, just, ah, talking about the book."

"Right," Mrs. Hanson looked suspicious, and seemed displeased with how the rest of the room seemed to be looking at them, too. "Well, try to keep it down. The book isn't _that_ funny, I promise you."

"Oh, sure, sure."

The three of them ducked their heads, covering their mouths to hide their smiles — which didn't always work, because they kept glancing at each other, and that threatened another outbreak. Eventually, though, they managed to calm down and get through about ten pages of _A Catcher in the Rye_.

It wasn't that the book was boring, but Gabrielle wasn't particular enraptured. The protagonist had a dull voice and her attention was starting to wonder. Mostly, she thought about her birthday, what she was going to do.

Especially if Dad was gone.

It took her a while to notice that the class itself was no longer paying attention to the book. She had drifted off, staring off into one corner of the room, unconsciously rereading the same inspiration kitten poster on one wall when someone passed in front of her and broke her line of thought. That's when she noticed the sound level of the room had gotten significantly louder, people's heads were turned, and Mrs. Hanson nowhere to be seen.

"Gabby, check it out!" Clara poked her with a finger, then pointed at the windows behind them. "Oh my, god, its so cute."

Gabrielle picked her head up off her chin, glancing around. Several classmates had gathered around the windows, tapping against the glass, giggling and waving. Gabrielle had to stand up to see what was going on.

It was a raven. Huge, the size of a cat, perched on the sill, peering inside the classroom with a single glittering black eye. Its head tilted back and forth, distracted by the half dozen kids trying to get its attention. It flapped its wings, hopped to the left, then the right. Someone was scrambling for food in their backpack, asking if the window could be opened.

It couldn't, but that didn't stop the class from trying to get the bird to do something.

"Birds are so dumb," Jess snorted, from her seat, looking largely unimpressed.

"I wonder what it wants," Clara thought aloud.

"It probably sees its own reflection and sees another bird," Jess replied with a roll of her eyes.

"What in the world is going on in here?" a sharp voice cut the room in half, and everyone froze as Mrs. Hanson stepped back into the room, looking furious. "I'm gone for five minutes to get a coffee and here you all are, hooting and hollering like a zoo of monkeys. What is it?"

"A raven, Mrs. Hanson!" Vinny Vicenzi pointed at the window with a grin. "Look, its just waiting there, looking at us!"

Mrs. Hanson opened her mouth to reprimand them, but was cut off by the period bell. She huffed, crossing her arms, and waiting until it ended to announce, "Well, you can say goodbye to your new friend, I'm sure he won't be visiting again!"

Kids were already packing their things, excited by the end of class. English class wasn't exactly the most enjoyable under Mrs. Hanson's care. Jess and Clara had already gotten up and were heading towards the door, leaving Gabrielle alone at her desk.

She was still watching the raven. It didn't move aside from a single blink. The hairs on the back of her neck sticking on end. Was it looking at her?

"Gabrielle, is there a problem?" Mrs. Hanson called, making her jolt.

"What?" Gabrielle said, before looking around and suddenly finding herself the only one left in the room. Already the next class was filtering in, and they were giving her odd looks. Mrs. Hanson was still giving her the stink-eye. Gabrielle flushed, glanced down at her table. "Oh, it's nothing, sorry."

But as she picked up her back, she looked towards the window. The raven bent its head, cawed once, before taking off. Gabrielle hunched her shoulders, backing away from her desk, before pivoting on her heel and making a beeline for the door.

As she pushed through the hallway, heading for her locker, Gabrielle couldn't shake the weird feeling rising in her gut. But she was positive that the raven at the window was the same one she'd seen last night.

Was it following her?


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

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* * *

"What makes the night so scary?" Ben asked, coming to sit on the corner of his desk. In his hand, he held a worn copy of _Paradise Lost._ Everyone else had an identical copy open in front of them.

The class stared at him. It was the first question Ben had asked after they recapped the recent chapter they read; no one was sure where he was going with this. To Gabrielle's left, Aaron Champlain raised his hand. "Because it's dark?"

"Yes, and what about the dark is so scary for humans?" Ben asked. When he was met with silence, he offered, "Why do we bring a flashlight when we go in the basement?"

Ben was the Honors English teacher at Mountmend, and as one of the younger ones, was a bit New Age. First of all, he preferred everyone call him by his first name rather than Mr. Johannson. At twenty-six he was young enough to be giggled about in the halls, and hip enough that most kids got along with him. He did, however, have a penchant for being purposefully obtuse, and probably liked to think himself more profound than he really was.

Usually Gabby didn't mind. But a day had passed since the raven incident, and although she hadn't seen it again, she still felt a strange sense of trepidation. Like something was wrong and she just didn't know it yet.

"To see more?" Katie asked.

"Yes! And what does our sight give us?"

Gabrielle started to frown. English wasn't her worst class, but it was prone to discussions of interpretations and literary theory, which was rather boring for her. She preferred the solidness of History, and asking more interesting questions like "What if?" and "What don't we know?" In English, it was more about what the green light in _The_ _Great Gatsby_ symbolized, or the meaning of the name Pearl in _The Scarlet Letter._ Why did it matter? And talking about darkness wasn't exactly her favorite topic, but Gabrielle still hadn't gleaned what this was about; the class seemed to be going along with it, though. The questions seemed simple enough.

"So we know where things are?" Jimmy Duvall answered.

"We can read?" Aaron suggested.

"Exactly!" Ben held up a finger, grinning. "Information. Light reveals, and darkness hides."

Gabrielle, having lost her patience with this seemingly unrelated tangent, raised her hand and spoke without being called on. "What does any of this have to do with _Paradise Lost_?"

Ben blinked at her, before answering with a smile, "Of course, how does this all tie back to the subject at hand? Well, as we've just read, Lucifer is often compared as the darkness to God's light. We know from the original source material — AKA the Bible — that he's someone to be feared, that he's evil. Equating him to a natural fear of humans is a sort of subtle clue that we' aren't supposed to trust him? And yet we've found ourselves feeling sorry for Lucifer. If the darkness is to be feared, then why doesn't it override our sympathy for the Devil?"

He chuckled at his own joke. Gabrielle wasn't as amused; maybe she was just in a bad mood today, but she didn't like that Ben assumed everyone had the same perspective on Milton's character. The rest of the class stared blankly until Ben cleared his throat and continued, "Because we see that the Light — in this case, God and the other angels — can be just as fearsome as Satan. Dark may be evil in this case, but Light can be just as foul. You might even say the darkness is necessary, in order to see past the blinding power of light."

Gabrielle imagined that this was supposed to be some deep metaphor or something, but she was still annoyed. Again she raised her hand, and again she spoke without waiting to be asked. "Okay, but I don't think Lucifer's that sympathetic. He's just as bad as people say he is. Everything he does is selfish."

Ben paused, smile starting to fade. "Oh?"

Before he could inquire further, Katie stepped in, demanding, "What do you mean? Lucifer had some good ideas! You know, like democracy and all that? It's not his fault that God wouldn't listen to him."

"So?" Gabrielle just shrugged her shoulders. "Lucifer still did bad things, and that's why he got cast out of Heaven.

"Well, God's decisions aren't really that great, either," Aaron pointed out. "He practically laid out that Tree of Knowledge as a trap for Adam and Eve!"

"Just because some all-powerful deity is doing bad stuff doesn't give you the excuse to do the same," Gabrielle replied, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. A headache was starting to form behind her eyes. "Sure, God didn't have to do that, but Adam and Eve were innocent. That's like their entire point of existence. Maybe Lucifer was right to mess up some of God's plans, but that doesn't make it okay to hurt innocent people, who have no idea what's really going on. Lucifer goes on and on about how awful it is he got kicked out of heaven, like he's the victim in all of this, but really he's just an asshole —"

"Language, Gabby." Ben frowned, while the class tittered.

"Sorry," She heaved a sigh, rolled her eyes. "Lucifer's a _jerk_ , okay? Maybe he has _some_ good ideas, but he's uses them to justify legit evil things. Just because you have good intentions doesn't mean what you're doing is okay, or that maybe you're just lying to yourself to hide your pride and ambitions."

"Hmm," Ben said, frowning thoughtfully. Some of the other students looked ready to continue to discussion, but Ben was starting to look a little fatigued. Perhaps he already guessed that Gabby might steal the control from him, and wisely decided to nip it in the bud. "Those are some, ah, interesting ideas, Gabby. You should hang onto them for the final essay coming up. Speaking of which —" he was drowned by a chorus of groans. "Oh, c'mon, it won't be that bad! It's only seven pages!"

* * *

 **↢ᛞ↣**

* * *

Gabby was still grumpy about English class after school had ended.

To her, it felt as if she'd lost the argument. Sure, Ben cut her off before anyone could really talk about it further, but it was clearly because he didn't like the way things were going. As she trumped towards the field past the ancient oak tree, duffle bag over her shoulder, Gabrielle promised herself she was going to write one hell of a paper for English class, all right.

"I heard you got pretty worked up in Ben's class today," Jess said to her as they were putting on their cleats.

Sitting side by side on the bench, Gabrielle have been quiet, still stewing in her thoughts. She had a vice-like grip on the shoelaces, tying them so tightly that her foot was starting to tingle from lack of circulation. She let out a huff and went to untie it again before her foot went numb.

"Just a dumb class," Gabrielle finally said, retying her sneaker. "We were talking about _Paradise Lost_ and I kind of started a big argument."

"Isn't that the book where Satan is the hero?" Jess asked, frowning. She and Clara took regular Sophomore English, and didn't read the same books as Gabby did.

"In name only," Gabrielle muttered. "I guess the common interpretation is that Lucifer's this misunderstood bad guy with good motivations and bad luck, but I feel like I'm the only one that sees that he's still this selfish prick who's deliberating manipulating his audience to get them on his side." Gabby paused, then realized how stupid she sounded, acting like the Lucifer in the book was a real person. "Although maybe that was the point of the author."

"Uh-huh," Jess said slowly, giving Gabby a skeptical look. "You sure you're not just totally obsessing about this in a really unhealthy way?"

"I am not _obsessing_. Everyone just thinks Milton feels bad for Lucifer! And I don't think that's true!"

"Ignore her, she's still mad her dad isn't coming to her birthday," Clara called, coming up to them and dropping her duffle bag next to theirs.

"What? Am not!" Gabby said, offended.

"Well, you seemed pretty salty about it when you mentioned it this morning, even though yesterday you seemed fine." Clara said, raising her eyebrows pointedly. She flopped down next to Gabby, hands up. "I'm not saying I blame you! I'd be pretty pissed, too. You know how many times my mom missed our games? I can count the number of times she _didn't_ on one hand."

Gabby screwed up her lips but found Clara to be genuine, and decided to let it go. She turned her attention back to the ground. Her grip tightened around the splintery old wood of the bench beneath her. "I just wish he told me earlier."

"Did you tell him that?" Jess asked, but at that moment Coach blew the whistle, calling everyone to center field.

Instead of answering, Gabrielle got up and walked away.

She could feel Jess and Clara's eyes on her, as they gathered around Coach and were directed to do warm-ups: first the basics, like lunges, jumping jacks, and high-knees. Then a quick three-minute jog around the field, and afterwards further stretches. Gabby took this as an opportunity to keep to herself; still not in the mood for talking, she hoped some exercise might ease the headache that had been throbbing behind her eyes for the past couple hours. She'd taken some ibuprofen at lunch but it didn't seem to have helped any.

By that point, Coach had already pulled out a net. Once everyone was good and sweaty, she had everyone get their gear and form a line. Practicing throws again, with alternating goalies. Drilling throws and catches.

So far, Clara and Jess had left her alone, seeming to understand Gabrielle needed time to herself. But not everyone on the team understood that.

"So, Gabs," Vanessa called from somewhere behind the line. "I heard your birthday party's this weekend — I'm invited, right?"

 _I'd rather eat a cactus._ Gabrielle winced inwardly. She hated it when Vanessa used any sort of nickname with her. Slowly she turned, found Vanessa three girls down. Vanessa had a bright smile, as if she knew exactly what Gabrielle was thinking. But Gabby kept her face neutral as she said, "Well, yeah. The whole team is invited."

As Gabrielle was met with a chorus of pleased tones, Vanessa's smirk slipped off her face. Clearly, this wasn't the reaction she'd expected; Gabby was proud of herself for being calm. Sometimes Vanessa could be predictable. She'd expected something like this was bound to happen, and wasn't going to give Vanessa what she wanted.

Of course, that didn't mean she was done yet. Realizing she wasn't going to get anything out of Gabrielle, Vanessa leaned back and called out, "Don't miss, Moo-Moo!"

In front of them, Clara had just shot the ball when Vanessa shouted. The ball went wide, soaring far left of the goal. Clara let out a curse, stomped her foot, and made the slow walk to the end of the line. As she passed, Vanessa jeered, "Ooh, bad shot! Better luck next time, Moo-Moo."

Gabby would've said something, but Clara just flipped Vanessa off and kept walking. And it seemed that was that.

She shouldn't have been so naive. They had not yet reached their usual quota of Vanessa's bullshit today.

When it was Gabby's turn to throw, she heard a sudden burst of giggles behind her. The whole team was chatting casually as they practiced, but Vanessa's voice ran out above them all: "...are those tattoos, or just new stretchmarks, Clara?"

The words caught Gabby by surprise. Anger flared hot, and her arms snapped. She swung her stick too hard.

The net and goalie Mel were just fifteen feet away. The ball came in like rocket. Mel let out a cry and ducked. If she hadn't, she would've taken the ball straight to the teeth. It whistled over her head harmlessly, smacking into the net. As Mel came back up, she threw Gabby a startled look, but Gabrielle had already turned around and was stalking to the back of the line.

She was about to say something to Vanessa when she caught Clara shaking her head out of the corner of her eye; Gabrielle paused, closed her mouth, kept going. As she passed, Clara whispered, "Don't make a big deal, she's just trying to start some drama,"

"Well, she's good at it," Gabrielle said. Clara was trying to put on a brave face, but the corners of her mouth were strained. She had yet to come up with a good comeback to any of Vanessa's remarks, and telling her to just shut up hadn't worked either.

Jess, who was right behind Clara, made a crude gesture with her hand and mouth, simulating a particular sexual act. It was pretty funny, right up until Coach barked, "Nguyen! Watch yourself!"

Jess just shared an eyeroll with them before Gabby moved on. Why Coach had a problem with Jess's inappropriate behavior but not Vanessa's was one of the many mysteries of Mountmend High. Of course, she'd discipline anyone if there were complaints, but for some reason she never seemed to catch Vanessa in the act.

Gabrielle was privately hoping maybe someone else would step in, another teammate perhaps. But with Vanessa as team captain, and a Junior on top of it all, meant she was both older and more important than the rest of them. Gabrielle couldn't stand another year with her on the same team, but until she could find an alternative sport she loved more than lacrosse (an impossibility), she'd just have to bear it.

But she wasn't going to do so quietly.

When the drilling was over, Coach split the girls into four teams, each two getting one half of the field — the idea was to attempt a mini-game, tighter quarters meaning it was more difficult to avoid touching each other. Gabby wondered if it was just bad luck that she and Clara ended up with Vanessa.

By _with_ Vanessa, she meant that they were on the same team. Unfortunately, Vanessa decided tormenting Clara was more important than teamwork, so they suffered as the other side continued to score one goal after another. Still Clara refused to confront Vanessa, and shot looks at Gabrielle whenever she made a move towards her. She seemed determined to ignore Vanessa at all costs.

"What are you doing all the way over there? The ball's over here, you idiot!"

"What did you do, overload on the butter today? What's wrong with you?"

"If you think I'm gonna pick up your slack, you got another thing coming, Moo-Moo!"

But even Clara had her breaking point.

"C'mon slowpoke!" Vanessa called from the opposition's goal. "Get your lardass over here already! We're losing because of you!"

Clara, who was on the other end carrying the ball, came to an abrupt stop about half-way down. The other team, Katie, Mel, and Becka, stopped as well — it was obvious to everyone in the vicinity that Vanessa's disruption was affecting more than her own team. The other three didn't look like they were enjoying themselves much either, and Gabrielle noticed that they looked relieved when Clara finally threw down her stick and shouted, "Oh, go fuck yourself, Hatch! No one here's going to do it for you!"

"Oh shit," whispered someone behind Gabrielle, as Clara stomped up to Vanessa, shoulders trembling. It almost looked like she was crying, but it was hard to say with her helmet on.

"What're you gonna do, sit on me?" Vanessa cackled, then faked a choking gasp, stumbling back and faking injury as Clara approached. "Oh, no! Squished to death... by the...talking...ox! A tragic demise!"

The sun was right in her eyes. Gabrielle grit her teeth, turned her head away. She couldn't see Vanessa, but she heard that shrill, horse-like laugh. It made her blood boil.

"Lay off, Vanessa!" Gabrielle shouted, after seeing Clara's eyes start to go a little glassy, a sudden shuddering breath. She didn't care if Clara wanted her out of it. This had gone on for too long. She wasn't going to just sit back anymore and pretend it wasn't happening right before her eyes.

"Or what, Breit?" Vanessa just threw her a derisive sneer. She didn't move as Gabrielle stormed in, placing herself in front of Clara. Close enough to strike Vanessa, if she wanted to, but Vanessa didn't look scared. "You gonna go cry and tattle on me? I'm just trying to help! A few diet tips never hurt anyone. If anyone needs them, it's Clara the Cow —"

Gabrielle stepped forward, her fists clenching around her stick. _Enough_.

Vanessa's mouth was open. Teeth so white. Laughing in slow-motion, like in a movie.

Something flashed. Blinded, Gabrielle flinched, her eyes squeezing shut.

A scream.

When Gabrielle opened her eyes again, Vanessa ten feet away, on the ground, crying. Gabrielle had both hands raised — burning hot.

"Holy shit." Clara breathed behind her.

Startled, Gabrielle stumbled back. Her stick lied smoking on the ground. What the hell just happened?

The last thing she remembered was approaching Vanessa. Honestly, Gabrielle wasn't sure what she had been planning to do. Maybe just slap her. But it felt like she'd pushed Vanessa instead.

Pushed her so hard that she sent Vanessa flying?

The field had gone silent. All the teams had stopped playing. Everyone was staring at her.

"G-Gabby…" Clara sniffed, no longer looking upset. The expression on her face was more akin to shock. Her eyes were fixed, wide-eyed, on Gabrielle. "What did you _do_?"

"I-I…" Gabrielle tucked her hands to her chest, suddenly scared and not knowing why. She looked around for some other explanation. But the other girls were backing off, wary. They had just seen their teammate attack another. "I don't know —"

The shriek of a whistle cut her off, and next second Coach was charging onto the field, her face red to the ears. She jabbed a finger at Gabrielle, shouting,

"What the hell is going on here?" Coach Brennan rushed in like a hurricane, face red to the ears. She jabbed a finger at Gabrielle, demanding, "Breit, explain yourself!"

Vanessa was already behind helped up by Katie. She was cradling her arm, still crying. She didn't look like she was faking it this time. Gabrielle gaped at her, helpless for a moment, before turning to Coach. "I-I don't know! She started it —"

"I don't care who started it!" Coach snapped, hands on her hips. "You think assaulting other teammates is okay? How do you feel about watching the next game on the bench?"

"What?" Gabby shouted, her fury igniting like gas over a dimming fire. All at once her fury returned. "That's not fair! You can't do that!"

"Oh, can't I?" Coach laughed, but it was utterly without humor. "Well, Breit, consider yourself benched — Indefinitely!"

"But, Coach —"

"Off the field, Breit! _Now!_ "

With a huff, Gabby ripped off her helmet and threw it at her feet. Had she been calmer, she would've been embarrassed the way the entire team stared as she stormed off. Jess tried to intercept her, but Gabby just shrugged her aside. There was no helping this now.

Her hands were still tingling as she made her way off the field. Had Gabby not dropped her stick, she would've noticed the metal crushed from her grip.

Passing the bleachers, Gabrielle caught sight of the old oak tree on Mountmend's front lawn. There was a crack down the center of its trunk — once, years before she was born, a bolt of lightning struck the tree, killing it instantly. Ever since, the its branches had been bare.

Except today.

Today, they were filled with black feathers and gleaming eyes.

Over two dozen ravens had come to roost in the oak tree. Inky forms against a bright blue sky. So many that the dead branches creaked under their weight. But not a single one made a sound.

A chill went down Gabrielle's spin. She hugged her arms and quickly trotted past.

The ravens remained there, silent and watching, as Gabby made the walk of shame back to school.

* * *

 **A/N: Look, I had to read Paradise Lost for school and I still have a lot of feelings about it, okay? Lol. Also this is totally not an allegory for the fic as a whole ;P  
**


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